Between Love and Betrayal

The grand hall of the castle remained silent, save for the scratching of quills on parchment and the low crackle of the fireplaces. Seated before a table covered with documents, the princess kept her eyes fixed on the kingdom's reports. Her posture was impeccable, her expression as cold as the winter that covered the palace walls. At nineteen, she carried the weight of a crown that was not yet hers.

She hadn't smiled in so long that the servants barely remembered what it was like to see her happy.

— Your Highness, if you keep frowning like that, I fear your forehead will freeze forever.

The overly dramatic voice echoed through the hall before a man appeared, twirling among the guards with theatrical steps. The new court jester wore clothes too colorful for that somber environment, small bells attached to his sleeves, and a partial mask hiding part of his face. She didn't even lift her eyes.

— I don't have time for this today, Tristan.

— A tragedy. — He placed a hand on his chest, feigning suffering. — I spent the whole morning rehearsing my death after being rejected by the cruelest woman in the kingdom.

No reaction.

Tristan sighed exaggeratedly and fell to his knees in the center of the hall, eliciting soft chuckles from some servants. Still, the princess remained immobile.

But he noticed.

He noticed the almost invisible movement at the corner of her lips.

Small. Brief. Almost nonexistent.

Still, enough to make him forget to breathe for an instant.

Because, despite the years… he still recognized her.

The princess's gray eyes were the same as those of the nine-year-old girl who had given him a ring of flowers in the garden of the old treaty between the kingdoms. The girl who had promised, with the innocence of childhood, that one day she would marry him.

Before his family was accused of treason.

Before his surname was burned in public.

Before he watched his own father being dragged in chains while the entire kingdom spat at the feet of his lineage.

Tristan discreetly clenched his fingers behind his back.

They called his family traitors.

But he knew they weren't.

And discovering who really destroyed his home had become his only reason to stay alive.

Even if, for that, he had to hide behind jokes and ridiculous clothes.

Even if he had to stay by her side without ever being able to reveal who he really was.

She finally looked up from the papers.

— You're still here?

— Unfortunately, Your Highness. I'm like a pest that's hard to kill.

She stared at him in silence for a few seconds. The jester held her gaze with a lazy smile on his lips, though inside his heart ached.

Then, to the surprise of everyone in the hall, the princess let out a small, low laugh.

Almost inaudible.

The servants froze.

The guards exchanged glances.

And Tristan… just stood there, watching her as if that simple sound had brought color back to the entire world.

Perhaps that was dangerous.

Because the more she smiled at him…

…the harder it became to remember that one day he would have to leave.